A saddled horse was tied to a porch post, and as they dismounted its owner came out. And he stood not upon the order of his coming. The door had opened suddenly, and this man came out asprawl. He struck on his hands and knees at the edge of the top step, turned completely over, and landed out in the gravel.
He was a short, heavily built man of about forty years of age, with a reddish mustache and a florid complexion.
For several moments he blinked violently, got slowly to his feet, and walked over to his horse. He turned his head to stare at Hashknife and Sleepy, but lost no time in mounting his horse and riding away. His hat came out in the yard with him, but he did not stop to pick it up.
Hashknife and Sleepy grinned at each other, and turned toward the doorway to see Big Medicine Hawkworth looking at them. He was stooped in the doorway, his big hands hanging low, his mop of white hair falling forward over his eyes.
“What do you want?” he asked sullenly.
Hashknife grinned and looked toward the cloud of dust, which marked the passing of the man who had been thrown out.
“Not what he got,” said Hashknife.
Big Medicine lifted his head and squinted down the road. His attention was attracted by the hat in the yard. Slowly he came down the steps, picked up the hat and sailed it far off across the tumbledown fence. Hashknife and Sleepy watched him with amusement as he came back to the edge of the porch.
“Perhaps,” he said, “that was a childish thing to do, but I was irritated beyond endurance.”
“Yeah,” admitted Hashknife, “I reckon yuh was, pardner.”